Gunpowder and Dust
by The Fallen Sun
Summary: [Updated 07/29/13. Ch. 4: Highway Patrol]. Connor Gray is haunted by the DC Wasteland, and saw the job as a Courier as an escape, but that career was cut short by a bullet to the head. Now with a scar and a shattered past that plagues him, how will the old soul survive the Mojave desert and its new challenges? Rated T (for now)
1. Chapter 1: A Lead Kick To The Head

It took him nearly a month and a half of solid walking, only breaking to take a sip of water, to escape the Wasteland in DC. He headed west, the east he saw the greater of two evils. His Pip-Boy was trashed. It was quite literally shattered after a Super Mutant swung at him with a Super-Sledge. He thought it would be a good idea to use his arm to block it. His arm managed to set itself right with a self made sling but the scars along his flesh still remained. His father, James, taught him everything he knew when it came to medicine and his own experience in the Wasteland gave him more then ample opportunity to practice but he was not perfect at it.

Nevada, more specifically the Mojave Desert, when he arrived was more intact then he ever dreamed of. It even gave him a job as a Courier. It put him point A to point B, don't ask questions sort of agreement. He knew when not to inquire, earned some easy caps, and drank most of them away. It was a good, easy life and allowed him to forget the Wasteland and how it tortured the twenty-three year old man. Most of that torture revolved around the Enclave and his father. He was ready to move on, forget it all.

Yet there was a group of men in front of him now as he came to. One stood in a checkered coat and two were on either side of him with very raider like armor on. The man in the checkered coat took a long drag of a cigarette. He oozed class, even to the way he held himself right down to the slightly lofted brow that brought attention to his dark eyes. The one with the shovel in his hand stared dark bullets at him. The third seemed impatient, looking around wildly. For all the Wanderer knew he was on something.

"You got what you paid for," the third gruffly said, "now pay up."

"You're crying in the rain, pally." The coated man said with the smallest of scowls.

"Heh…guess who's waking up over here, ah?" the wastelander with the shovel pointed out.

The Courier managed a good look before the others noticed. Something he was thankful for really, would make it easier for him to hunt them down.

"Time to cash out," the de-facto leader said, almost sadly as he flicked the cigarette to the ground.

"Will you get it over with?" the dark skinned, impatient captor said.

The man held up a finger, and to the Courier's surprise it wasn't the middle one. "Maybe Khans kill people without looking them in the face, but I ain't a fink, dig?"

Kill people? Panic and bile started to gather in his throat, his bladder tightened. He hadn't felt this scared since he first killed the overseer. Amata never forgave him for that but justice's hand was never a soft blow. He then tried to stand, but legs felt numb, he tried to pull his arms apart, but rope was tied roughly about his wrists. He then remembered the blow to the back of his head, He still felt a bit sluggish but he still managed a glare to the man in the shovel who gulped and looked away. The dark haired leader reached into his breast pocket inside of his jacket and pulled out what appeared to be a poker chip.

"You made your last delivery kid," he then placed it back, "sorry you got twisted up in the scene."

He then pulled out a gun plated in silver, something that looked pretty when it killed. The panic started to tear at his lungs, telling him to cry out, but he said not a word, only stared wide eyed.

"From where you're kneeling must seem like an eighteen karat run of bad luck," he then aimed the handgun at him loosely, "the truth is; the game was rigged from the start."

He then pulled the trigger, fire entered his mind and then he felt nothing.

* * *

His eyes shot open and he coughed, a hand pressed against his chest to keep him from bucking and rolling about.

"Easy, easy…" the voice said, loosely accented, "you're mighty lucky you know."

He looked over at the source of the voice. He was an older man, wearing a beat up pair of dark overalls and a bandana tied about his neck. He had a thick mustache, but a kind face. His eyes showed a youthful sharpness which reminded him faintly of his father.

"W-Who-?"

"Name's Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings. Most just call me Doc though…You've been through a lot, not many can uh… survive bein' shot in the head."

"I-…I was shot? W-Where's Goodsprings? Where am I?"

He then remembered the checkered coat, the poker chip. His head throbbed and he scowled, resting a hand at the side of his head and rubbing at his temple.

"Let's start with something simple," the doctor said with a frown, "…Do you have a name?"

He nodded, rubbing at his temple still. "Connor Gray."

"Good to meet you, not exactly what'd I name ya, but a name's a name, right?"

Connor managed to smile a bit at that.

"Now for your other two questions Goodsprings is in the Mojave Desert and you're right now in my home," the doctor reached under the chair, trying to find something, "I had to get up in your noggin there to remove the bullet and some of its fragments… You should consider yourself lucky, the bullet managed to strike the left side of your head, broke in two. It uh…well, it will leave a scar."

He was handed a mirror and Connor peered into it. He was very much the same as he was in the Wasteland, albeit a few years older. His cheekbones were noticeable, and higher then normal on his face. He had a slim but powerful jaw. His bedraggled hair was a dark brown, near black and now it seemed he had a rougher beard on his chin. His fingers traced over it, finding that he liked it. His eyes were a pale hazel, nearing a steely color. The scar the Doc talked about was a grim red line that began at the left side of his head and cut sharply along his brow down the side of his face nearing the bottom of his ear.

"You did fine work, Doc. I can barely see it."

"Still, there will be a scar," he then reached over, gripping his shoulders gently in a firm grip, "now come on, you can't spend all day in bed. We'll take it slow."

The world spun and white flickered into his vision as he tried to stand. Connor quickly widened his stance and blinked rapidly to clear the dots. Some faded while others floated. He took a deep breath feeling the blood rush along his body. Doc Mitchell moved to a large, rustic looking machine as he frowned slightly in concern.

"Baby steps, make your way over to the Vit-o Matic, we can see if everything is up to snuff, eh?"

Each step was slow, but more and more Connor gained a bit more confidence. He then stumbled, feeling a sudden weakness wash over him and his hand gripped the so called Vit-o-matic for dear life. One of which gripped the small metal rod that was near the console. He felt a brief jolt of electricity and he released the grip. Doc Mitchell was there in an instant, gripping his arm and back to keep him upright.

"Your body might still be a bit sensitive, figure—Oh would ya look at that."

Connor stared at the screen as he rubbed at his twitching hand. His brow lofted, staring at the scores of his alleged strength, perception, endurance, charisma, intelligence, agility and luck. Strength was at 6, giving him the 'Barrel Chested' mark. Perception scored 5, 'Wary Trout'. Endurance was 5, 'Stain Resistant'. Charisma was 6, 'Cheery Salesman'. Intelligence was 7, 'Smartypants'. Agility was 6, 'Catlike'. Finally, the last indicator of luck blipped on the screen at 5, 'Coin Flip'.

At the last one Connor frowned. He remembered someone's words saying the game was rigged, he supposed that his coin flip was double tails so the house always won. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling another wave of nausea and another headache starting to pound at his skull.

"Seems you're healthy enough," the Doc said with a slight smile, "now, why don't you follow me and I can do my follow up, just a few questions. I need to see if your memory is intact, and if you can still form a coherent sentence."

Connor gave a mute nod and followed along. He gladly sat on the couch for as old and beaten as it was it was still far more comfortable then standing.

"Now, I'm going to saw a word, you say the first that comes to mind. Dog."

"Train."

"House."

"Shelter."

"Night."

"Dream."

"Bandit."

"Stab."

"Light."

"Torch."

"Mother."

That gave Connor pause and a frown touched his lips. "Regret."

Doc Mitchell had a frown on his lip as well. "Now, I have a few statements here, you can say strongly agree to disagree, alright?"

Connor nodded. His headache throbbed and a hand went up to put pressure against his skull.

"Conflict ain't in my nature."

"Agree."

"I ain't relying on others to give support."

He shifted, remembering his companions in the DC Wasteland. "No Opinion."

"I'm always fixing to be the center of attention."

Connor gave a quiet laugh then. "Disagree."

"I'm slow to embrace new ideas."

"Disagree."

"I charge in to deal with my problems head on."

Connor was always a careful thinker, but he did not mind getting his hands dirty. He rubbed the back of his neck. To him nothing sounded sweeter then hearing a well oiled round blasting from the barrel of a gun. "Disagree."

Doc Mitchell nodded and then gestured over his shoulder. "I'm going to show you a couple of images, and I want you to tell me what you see, alright?"

He gave a nod and as the first was revealed a brow lofted. He never received this sort of examination before but he let a hand rub at his bearded chin. "Mmn…an oozing wound."

The second was revealed now and Connor stared for a moment. "A priceless work of art."

Doc Mitchell pulled the second down. "Last one."

"A light in the darkness."

"Good, one final thing. Just need you to write down some things concerning your medical history. This isn't going to effect anything, I doubt that it there's a family history of getting shot in the head." He gave a soft laugh.

_No,_ Connor thought, _just letting yourself be burned by radiation in a last ditch effort to save the world._ He simply smiled at the doctor however and wrote down his basic information before handing him back the clipboard.

"Alright then, you should head out there and head to the Prospector Saloon and look for a girl named Sunny Smiles. I think she can show you a few things on how to survive out here."

Connor nodded but before he could Doc Mitchell held up his hand. "Ah, almost forgot just sit here a moment."

Doc Mitchell disappeared a moment before returning with a folded jumpsuit and a familiar looking metal gauntlet, wristband and computer. "Now, I used to have these things in the Vaults, but I don't get much of a use for them anymore considerin' what I'm doing now. I think it might be best for them to be put to good use. Besides, rather not have you going out there in your skivvies, eh?"

Connor offered the smallest of smiles. "Thank you, Doc…For everything."

The old man smiled. "Ah, don't mention it. It's what I do."

Connor slipped the rather worn jumpsuit on and then attached the Pipboy 3000 to his right hand. He was a lefty, and found his needed more room for his hand to hold a pistol and squeeze the trigger then have a nice chunk of metal in the way. After he shook hands with the good doctor Connor made his way outside, into Goodsprings, and into a new Wasteland. It seemed Connor was out of the DC frying pan and into the Mojave oven.


	2. Chapter 2: Ghost Town Shootout

He must have looked certainly like a fool with nothing but a Pipboy and a vault jumpsuit on. He pushed his way into the Saloon and was greeted with a bark. He didn't jump, but smiled, seeing the large hound staring at him. He knelt down and the dog tilted its head and wandered over, nuzzling into his shoulder. Connor had always been a fan of dogs even to the point of not killing the wild ones back in DC. Dogmeat was his longest lived companion back in DC. Another twinge of a headache slapped into the back of his neck but he distracted himself by scratching behind the dog's ear.

"She won't bite unless I tell her to."

He peered up at a shorter Hispanic woman with a smile on her face, a fitting name considering how bright it truly was. "You must be Sunny Smiles, nice to meet you." It was the first real sentence he said since the Doc's. His voice was raspy sounding, but he recalled Nova saying that it had a smooth lilt.

"And by that gear you have I saw you're Doc Mitchell's patient?"

He nodded and slid to his feet. The world nearly toppled on its side again but he managed to stay upright. "He mentioned you could help me get established here. Is there any work I can do?"

"Not work, but… there is an old school house near by if you're up for a bit of salvaging."

She handed him a few bobby pins and a magazine detailing a few locks. He lofted a brow at her. "I know what the pins are for, but the magazine?"

"It may give you some knowledge on the lock you're dealing with, never bothered with it myself."

"Understandable, now as for myself helping you?"

Sunny tilted her head in thought. "Well, there are a few watering holes around here that are under the constant threat of geckos. Doc treats more bites from those nasty beasts then anything else. But come with me out back first, need to see if you shoot."

Connor would admit that his eyes strayed down to her hips through most of that short walk. She handed him a rifle similar to her own, bolt action and rather thin looking, before she set herself up on a small hill. She offered another smile as she gestured to some bottles lined up on the fence.

"Now, let's see you shoot three of those."

Connor had the rifle at hip level when he fired and missed the first target. He then aimed down the sights, knocking a bottle from the fence and then crouched down, shattering a second. He then stood up and held the rifle at the ready.

"That was some nice shootin'. Let's see you use those skills of yours one some geckos."

Connor followed again and he already went into the mindset he had back in DC. He followed the example of the military books he read, scanning around and keeping a finger near the trigger. Cheyenne was jumping and bounding around between them and Connor managed a smile. It wasn't long after that Sunny kneeled down, Connor followed suit.

"Hear that?" she whispered, "they're just beyond this ridge, sneak up and you can get the drop on them. Let's see what you can do."

He frowned and trudged forward anyway. He felt her eyes on his back but paid them no mind. He was around the ridge when he saw what a gecko actually was. They were large reptiles on two legs and a fierce glint to their eyes. They saw him only as good source of food. It took him three shots. Three geckos were now twitching on the ground minus a head. He returned to Sunny Smiles who commended his work it seemed by the raised eyebrows.

"Alright, think you can help me with the other two? Won't take us long with you me and Cheyenne here."

He nodded and smiled. "Won't mind at all."

It was quick work for the last two wells. Sunny and Connor even managed to save a Goodsprings Settler and Connor was given a bottle of purified water for the save. He wondered why she didn't give Sunny one. When she left he held out the bottle to her.

"Not too thirsty, and you do this enough."

She seemed reluctant at first but seemed thankful by how eagerly she drank it. She even gave some to Cheyenne before she spilled the rest on her face and hair. Connor stared a moment as she sighed softly, enjoying the pure water relief for a moment. The Wasteland back in DC was harsh but in the desert? He imagined it would be even worse.

"Now then, I figure since you do already know how to handle a rifle you need to learn how to live off the land, right?"

He frowned at her and then shook his head. "I put you through enough I think."

"Then I should mention one last thing, you should say hello to Trudy. She's back at the Saloon, kind of like the mother of this place. She'd scold me for not having you come introduce yourself."

He chuckled quietly. "I'll be sure to do that… Where is the rest of my clothing? Gear? I doubt I was found naked."

He saw Sunny's cheeks darken at that but she still managed to keep an even look. "Probably the Doc still has them."

"Thanks, Sunny… Figure I'll see you in the Saloon?"

She nodded. "Yes, figure you will."

He kneeled down and scratched behind Cheyenne's ear gently before he trudged off to Doc Mitchell's house. The sun was high in the sky, burning his messy hair and exposed neck. He knocked only once before the Doc opened the door with a lofted brow on his worn, wrinkled features.

"Well, never thought I'd see you come back here. Something wrong?"

"My gear…what I was buried with…Where is it?"

The Doc frowned at him and ushered him inside. "I looked through what you had, to try and find a next of kin or anything, but it seemed who ever shot ya didn't care about what you had."

"I don't appreciate you going through my things, Doc."

"I know, I know… Everything is in the other room, including a note, seemed to be a delivery order of some kind."

He nodded his thanks before pushing into the guest room. His things were unpacked neatly and he looked all of it over with nothing but nostalgia. His hands traced along the beaten up Sheriff's duster that he took from Simms, more so his body, after a sleaze named Burke shot him in the back. He was a young, foolish boy then but he kept the duster, wearing it proudly and as a reminder to his first mistake. He also had a pre-war hat in the form of a fedora as he placed it on his head. He only had a few other items which included some stimpacks, his duffle bag, a few bobby pins and a weathered, but reliable, 10mm pistol. He placed them all on and with a tip of his hat he made his way to the Saloon.

It was only Sunny and Cheyenne by some of the pool tables. The former had a worried look on her face.

"…I'm warning you, Trudy. We're going to find Ringo, and if ya don't give him up. We're burning all of Goodsprings down."

A man pushed passed him, a large revolver at his hip and a snarl on his lip. He turned and he had his fist cocked, but he let it drop. This wasn't his problem, at least not yet. He made his way to the bar under the wary, drunken eye of a patron and the lofted brow of Trudy. She was an older woman, wearing a sundress that hugged her form in the right places. He managed to offer a smile.

"Well now, you must be the new one Sunny is all in a tizzy about."

Connor lofted a brow. "I am I suppose, who was that?"

Her eyes rolled. "Joe Cobb, leader of some folk called the Powder Gangers."

"Name doesn't mean anything to me, mind explaining?"

"They used to be workers for the NCR, slaves more like, and in charge of making railroad tracks. Eventually they realized giving a bunch of pissed off ex-cons some dynamite was a bad idea. They're hold in the NCR Correctional Facility south-east of here."

"Noted, and who's…Ringo? Is that who Joe mentioned?"

"Some trader of sorts… He came here all panicked saying they were going to kill him, so we let him lay low here for a bit. Turns out he wasn't kidding."

"Where is he now?"

"At the old gas station, just up the road."

He nodded, but then noticed the lack of music in this room. There was plenty coming from the pool hall though. "Is there uh…something wrong with your radio?"

She blinked and looked back at the one on the bar. "Yeah, the damned thing won't work no matter what I try…"

"Mind if I take a look at it?"

She placed it in front of him, shrugging. "Feel free."

He turned the radio around and using a bobby pin as a makeshift screwdriver he removed the back panel. Turns out one of the wires disconnected. He carefully brought the wires out and twisted them about each other. His pale hazel eyes stared at Trudy for a moment. "Got any duct tape?"

She produced a roll and he took a well sized strand, wrapping it around the joined wires and a finger's width to either side of it. He then replaced the back panel and pressed it. The sound of Blue Moon by Frank Sinatra sputtered to life in front of him. The song was one that Connor quickly grew fond of even as he handed the radio back to her.

"Oh my, thank you! I have some cap-"

"Don't bother, ma'am." Connor quickly said. "It's fine really. Everyone deserves a bit of music from time to time."

She offered a smile and the smallest hint of a blush touched her cheeks. "Well, I have a special discount for you then if you ever find yourself thirsty."

He stood up, checking his belongings before tipping his hat. "I'll be sure to take you up on that."

He left the Saloon after giving Cheyenne another loving scratch behind the ear. The walk to the gas station was small and Connor could not help but notice a flickering Sunset Sarsaparilla vending machine. With his Pip-boy clad arm he slammed it and was greeted with a still cool bottle tumbling out. It tasted mildly like Nuka-Cola to him, but still after a few healthy gulps he threw the bottle to the side and pushed into the station. To his surprise, he was greeted with a shorter man with goggles around his neck and swept back dark hair pointing a 9mm pistol at him.

"Now don't you come any closer." Ringo warned.

"If you're going to shoot, better make sure I'm dead." Connor stated flatly, not the first time he looked down the barrel of a gun, his head throbbed remembering the checker coated man. His hand reached up to rub at his temple.

"I-I…look we got off on the wrong foot here. I'm Ringo."

"Good to meet you, I heard from Trudy you were in trouble? Perhaps I could help?"

Ringo gave a quiet laugh then. "We'll need help, ask Sunny Smiles I'm sure she'll be willing to."

"Will do, sit tight."

Ringo nodded and slumped down, grabbing a bottle of whiskey off the shelf. Connor left him there and trotted back to the Saloon. He offered the smallest of looks to Sunny as he approached, petting Cheyenne's head idly. "Ringo and I could use your help with J-"

"I'll do it."

A brow lofted on his face. "That easy?"

"That easy, we'll have to fight Joe sooner or later, might as well make it sooner. Between you, Ringo and I however don't think we can make an army. Talk to Trudy, silver tongue her about this whole thing. Easy Pete has some dynamite, and I know Chet has some leather armor. No doubt the Doc can sacrifice a few more stimpaks."

With that list in mind he came over to Trudy. He waved her over, seeing as the bar was a bit busier then he figured. When she approached she leaned in, one for secrecy it seemed. "Sunny, Ringo and I are going to need your help Trudy. The town is going to have to defend itself at some point. It might as well stand straight then get shot while sitting."

She frowned at him, but there was a bit of a spark in her eye. "I intended on sitting this one out but something about you has me intrigued. I'll see who I can round up."

He winked at her playfully and went into the general store. Chet was there, tinkering over something. He peered up at him and jumped to his feet. He had some goggles around his neck and some oil stains on his hands. "Well hi there, welcome to Goodspring General Store, how can-"

"I heard you have some extra supplies, Trudy and the rest of Goodsprings is going to need them I think, especially the armor I see in your back room there." Connor interrupted, not rudely, but enough to get his point across.

"Now wait justa minute here, you can't expect me to give up product easily-"

"Do you want Joe and his crew to waltz in here and start shooting? Imagine what they can do to your shop. Who knows, maybe a few of the kind folk of Goodsprings may be grateful enough to give you some caps for the loaned armor."

Chet seemed at a loss for words for a moment. "I… well… alright, I'll see what I can get, but I'll be guarding the shop during this mark my words."

Connor suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as he made his way out. He marched up to the Doc's. Easy Pete, who he assumed was the older man just outside of the Saloon, could keep his dynamite. He always found explosives too dangerous, in close quarters or pitched fights. The Doc was on his porch and one of his bushy brows was lofted. "Well now, what brings you back here?"

He set his bag down a moment, rubbing at his shoulder. "Goodsprings is going to be under attack, and soon, by Joe and his gang. Sunny and I are worried for the folk here and could use your help."

His face paled a few shades when he was informed. "Well I'm damned useless in a fight, but I can give you a few stimpaks."

He disappeared inside and came back out with another four. Connor carefully placed them in his bag and slung it over his shoulders again. He shook the Doc's hand and made his way to the gas station. Ringo was checking the clip of his pistol when he came in. He gave a hopeful glance up at him.

"Well?"

"Sunny agreed to help."

"Good! Good…Maybe we stand a chance, come on. Let's get outside and wait for the bastards."

"No need."

Connor would have jumped out of his boots then, but he kept a lid on himself as he peered at Sunny who looked like she just ran a marathon. Apparently she was busy while Connor was doing his quick run around. "They're here."

He brought up his weathered 10mm pistol, checking the clip and holding it loosely in his grip. "How many?"

"Joe plus…I don't know, five or six others?"

"Where are the rest of the townsfolk?"

"Already taking cover."

Connor nodded and gestured forward. "Lead on."

He and Ringo kept good place with Sunny as she took position behind an overturned cart. He saw Trudy and Chet out there. Even Easy Pete held a revolver in his worn grip. He slid his back under the back entrance of the Saloon and brought his pistol up in both hands as he waited behind the stone. He could see Joe and his men approaching. Some of them wore NCRCF uniforms, others wore nothing more then a bandolier of chems over their chest with a beaten up pistol in their grip. Connor didn't like it.

"Stay low." He murmured to Sunny.

"What?"

Connor narrowed his pale hazel orbs on her. "Tell everyone to stay low."

She gave a meek nod and Connor circled around to a stone closer to the group on their right flank. He took a deep breath and then rose up from behind it. He fired three shots off rapidly. It plucked one man clean in the side of the head, sending him to the ground in a tumble while it took the leg and chest of another. The second shot was absorbed barely by the armor. Connor plugged two more into him and sent him down.

Joe and the others spread out now, firing off shots wildly. Sunny and the people of Goodsprings sent a few shots their way but they were listening to Connor. The Wanderer was glad for that. One of the Gangers charged at him, a crazed look in his eye as he brought his baseball bat around. He leaned back, kicking into his stomach, pistol whipped him across the back of the neck and shot him in the back of the head on the way down before bringing his pistol back up and emptying the rest of his clip to keep their heads down.

He reloaded quickly and approached slowly. He saw Ringo peer over the sign he took refuge behind and gave him a nod. Connor picked up his pace and then rolled behind another large stone. A Ganger came around then and with his pistol tried to jab it under Connor's chin. He kicked the gun away and then jabbed his heel into his kneecap. Everyone heard the pop and with another kick he got him still. He managed to scramble to a crouch when he saw Sunny running over to where he was. He got to his knees now, his back was aching from the rough gravel stabbing into it through his duster.

"Sunny, no!"

A gunshot rung out, .357 magnum, a shot that could chill a man to the bone or in this case send Sunny to the ground wailing in agony at her bled out side. The Ganger that tried to take advantage of her being on the ground was quickly filled with 5.56 and 9mm rounds compliments of Trudy and Ringo. That left just him and Cobb.

He felt a small burning sensation in his stomach as he slid to his feet. Joe was already scrambling deeper into town. He kept up the pursuit in a calm manner, bringing his left hand up and firing shots to keep the coward running. He stopped and turned, firing another pair of shots. One passed harmlessly through the looser sides of the duster, but the second slammed right into his thigh. Connor stumbled a moment, the shot was a through and through and he stood straight and kept walking bleeding and with a limp.

"Why won't you drop?"

Connor took cover this time as Joe fired three more shots, taking nice handfuls of wood out of a ruined building. The Wanderer was being careful, he counted Joe's shots. He was out. He came around then, a dark vengeance burning in his pale hazel orbs as Joe ran away from Goodsprings. Connor fired once, taking Joe to the ground and he planted a hand on his lower back, pressing his other foot on the back of Joe's knee.

"I-I give! Ya got me I give!"

Connor thought for only a moment to bring him in. He then heard Sunny wail out again. He put five rounds into Joe's head, sending a brain splatter up his pant leg and some onto his bare right hand. He holstered the pistol, and ran back towards the town, seeing Sunny there holding her side. The Doc was trying to keep her down as he tried to dig out the bullet. They barely noticed the blood on his dark duster. One of his hands kept Sunny to the ground as the other gripped her other hand.

"Look at me Sunny." He snapped.

She did, staring right into his orbs with her brown pair.

"Just keep looking." He stated in that commanding tone, squeezing her hand tight.

She cried out then as the bullet was removed and the Doc immediately applied a stimpak.

"She's going to be fine, just try nothing too strenuous such as getting shot."

They all shared a small laugh at that. Goodsprings without their hunter meant no protection for the town. Cheyenne showered Sunny's face with licks. Connor didn't smile. He made his way to his bag and checked his belongings before shrugging it over his shoulders and tightening the straps. Ringo ran up to him holding a hand up.

"Thank you…so much, really, you have no idea. Here, I can pay you the rest when you come to the Crimson Caravan. They do good work, and with someone like you guarding a caravan? My God, they'd be in good hands."

Connor palmed the caps for a moment and then handed Ringo back half before placing the rest in an inner pocket of the duster. "Don't need much, keep an eye on her."

Ringo gave a mute nod before he looked to the south, slipping by the worried crowd. By the time Ringo explained what happened to the rest of the town and went to bring him forward as a gesture of thanks, Connor the Lone Wanderer and once Courier was no where to be seen, nothing by a dust trail in his wake.


	3. Chapter 3: Downing the Bison

He shoved a stimpak in his leg half way out of town, grunting as it worked on fixing itself. It wasn't long before his stride was even again and not a moment too soon either. He saw a pair of Gangers relaxing by some beaten up trailers. One of them noticed and brought his own magnum up, firing a shot that made him go into a harsh roll. He lost his hat and he sloppily drew his pistol from his spot on the road. He returned fire, taking the arm off of one before putting one in his heart. He took a deep breath and double-tapped into the center of the other's chest. He edged forward cautiously. He pilfered the .357 revolver and the collection of bullets it had. The other had some rounds for his 10mm and a nice handful of caps.

It was when he was collecting what he needed he noticed a town out in the distance. It seemed to be divided by a bridge. The closest side was to the right and he made his way there. He was flagged down by a man in an NCR uniform complete with a hard hat. He had a scowl on his features as he stared at him.

"Woh, woh there…Didn't you know Primm was off limits?"

"What for?"

"The NCRCF break out, a few of them holed up in Primm and have taken over the motel. A few of them are scouring about though, keeping the townsfolk contained in the casino."

"Why aren't you over there clearing them out?"

"It's only I and five others including the command. Our man power got pulled back to the front. If we could just get a single squad from Mojave…"

He peered over at the rest of Primm. He saw the remnants of a roller coaster near the motel. It must have been a major attraction when it was still running. He peered back at the soldier who seemed to be worried as he was. "Let me see what I can do over there and we can talk about that squad."

Before the man could say anything Connor made for the bridge. The three mines there were easily deactivated and placed in his bag. He had the revolver out, holding it in both hands as he checked the first makeshift house with a quick shoulder slam he could feel it locked from the other side. He moved to the other and noticed the door slightly ajar. When he stepped inside, his nostrils were invaded by the scent of death.

The source was in the joined bedroom, two corpses without a head were there stripped to their underwear. Their clothing was thrown about wildly. Undoubtedly they were having their own night of passion before rudely interrupted by the convicts. Connor then noticed a gleam of a silver star and he felt another headache coming on. He hesitantly walked over, in a daze, and traced his fingers along the sheriff's star.

_Well I'll be damned, another newcomer!_

_ Jesus! Give me that thing!_

_ Come on, you can see a fine example of wastelander justice._

Simms was a good man, seeing another like this would tear him apart. It was already tearing Connor apart slowly. He bit back the tears and it settled in his heart as a cold hate. He took the star off and swapped dusters. It was a good fit, and it seemed to have a few more pockets compared to Simms old one which he respectively folded up and placed in the bottom portion of the cabinet near the bed. He placed the hat with it as well and the star was pinned to the hat. It was an impromptu burial, one long overdue, but a burial none the less.

"If only you could see me now, Simms." He muttered.

He went back outside to Primm, it was nighttime already. Had he truly been reminiscing that long? He didn't dwell on it and went into a light jog on the closest wall of the casino. The fires in the barrels gave a small amount of light, but he could see the two shifting silhouettes of the guards. He pressed his front to the corner and peered around, holding his gun in his left hand he aimed and squeezed. The magnum had more kick then he realized and his arm sailed back. The convict dropped hard, his skull bouncing off the ground with a hole drilled right into it. The other guard turned then, panic on his features and fired blindly to where the shot came from. Connor moved up to the pillar and fired another shot. This one struck home in the arm near the elbow. He dropped his gun and Connor planted a third in the middle of his chest. He let him bleed out.

He collected the caps they had and the ammo. He also took the 9mm pistol and the pair of clips the man had. He was packing his pilfered goods when he heard the door to the casino open and a weathered dark fleshed face poked out. Connor was already pointing his gun at him.

"Jumpin'...Get in here, kid before the others see ya!"

His brow lofted but he stepped inside.

The casino was still operational, and there were more then a few concerned residents about most of them were armed with a mismatch of guns and pipes. A few of them however were sick, and scared others lost themselves in the spinning slides of the slots. Connor holstered his magnum and looked over at the older man. He wore a pair of overalls and he had a darker beard and a deep set of brows. His eyes were narrowed but a clear as glass.

"Well now, what are you doing here youngster?"

"Trying to set things right."

Connor wasn't sure if it was just in Primm or overall, but it seemed to satisfy the old man.

"Well, you can start by getting our deputy back. A few of them convicts captured him, brought him into the motel and keep a watch on here. We try and storm the place we're going to lose a lot of folk. Most don't know how to use a gun."

The Courier nodded in understanding. The guns were just strapped on for intimidation, not practical use.

"Mind if I leave my things here? Going to need an empty bag going there."

"S'not a problem, kid. Got anything of use? I run the Mojave Express just across the street and it doubles as a store, managed to get my cap stock and a few things out before all hell broke loose."

That rung a bell with him. He held out his varmint rifle and the ammo it has left and got a nice portion of caps for it. The three mines got less then expected, but Connor could use every bit he could get. He then held out the delivery order. "Can you tell me anything about this?"

He took it and peered at it curiously. "Ah yeah, you were number six. Hell, ya weren't supposed to be on her at all but the fella we approached bowed out immediately for this order seeing your name on it. He said let "Courier Six" deal with the order."

"If he only knew," Connor muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing… May I just leave my things over here on the table? Not much, just some clothing and supplies."

"Yeah sure thing, my wife and I can watch over them."

He strapped the empty bag tight to his back and with a slight tip of his head he ran from the casino and pressed against the outside of the motel. He used his right elbow to open the door while the left held his 10mm pistol level. He wanted to conserve the more powerful ammo for later. A sentry was walking away when he heard the creak of the wooden door open.

"What the-? Over here!"

Connor cursed and stormed in, plugging the first full with five bullets. The second came around the corner and Connor vaulted over the table before going into a roll. The man tried to swing a foot out and his forearm blocked the blow. He spun on his back and shot two more shots up. The first went into the man's bare stomach and the second shot clean through the bottom of his mouth and splattered his brain along the top of the doorway. The Wanderer panted quietly before gathering his wits and gathering the ammo they had for the pilfered 9mm pistol. He also went about swapping parts finding a better slide and a cleaner grip before reassembling the pistol. His time with the Brotherhood gave him an eye for better parts, and how to repair properly and in the field.

He ventured further into the motel, his grip on his sidearm solid. He carried the 10mm pistol ever since it was given to him by Amata. It was really the only thing he has left from vault 101. Another convict came around the corner, a cigarette in his mouth. He didn't even have the chance to drag as Connor fired twice. The first grazed his arm and the other skimmed his shoulder. Connor pressed against a wall taking a deep breath. He didn't want to remember the DC Wasteland, not anyone who lived there, not now.

"Oh that tickled!" the man crooned with a malicious laugh.

Med-X. It dulled the pain and could make a man feel like he's invincible. Connor's left arm was shaking wildly. He slammed his arm against the wall to try and sort himself out, to distract himself. He then saw a fireball explode against the wall furthest from him. His senses honed in and he peered around the corner. There was a convict there, wearing spiked metal armor and holding a larger flamethrower in his hand. He squeezed the release and another fireball whooshed by. Connor felt the heat and he stayed still. He was being escorted by the man he shot and another. He swapped the 10mm pistol for the magnum, reloading it.

"Someone looking after the deputy?"

"Yeah, Yvan's got him covered."

"You _sure_ there's someone here? Don't hear nothin'." The other man said, wearing a makeshift leather jacket with two wire collar guards.

"I'm telling ya, there's someone there!"

"Come out and plaaaaay!" the leader called.

Connor sat there, patient. The leader turned to bark orders and he leaned out, firing two shots at the exposed gas tank. The effect was immediate. The leader flew into a wall, the armor melting on his flesh. His screams drowned out the other two panicked yelps and the four shots it took to take them down, three in one and one in the other. He approached the corpses as he reloaded, taking the ammo and caps and leaving the rest. He passed through the main common room with a lot of makeshift beds and mattresses and a scattering of booze and cups. He saw a blonde haired man kneeling on the floor, arms and legs tied. Connor stepped into, what appeared to be a kitchen, relieved to have a friendly face.

"Watch o-"

The man's warning was late. A blade hissed along his cheek, cutting it wide open. He clutched at it with his right hand and the convict stepped in, slashing left and right to keep Connor at a distance. He was about to follow through with a backslash when he stepped in, grabbing his knife arm with his right hand at the elbow was his left punched twice into his ribs before he followed up with a forearm slamming into his head. The man stumbled back and dropped the knife. It was picked up a moment later and it was returned to sender, buried hilt deep into the man's chest. Connor left the corpse where it lay and approached the man in leather armor.

"Christ ya face…"

"It'll heal. You're the deputy I assume?"

"Deputy Beagle at ya service… Get me out of here, there's a few more up top but nobody will notice if we miss a couple of 'em, eh?"

Connor narrowed his eyes on him. "You're going to help me, Beagle. If you don't I'll just leave you here tied up for the others to find and imagine what they'll see having you with a corpse at your feet with more outside? They might just kill you."

"Alright, alright, ya made ya freakin' point. Untie me damnit."

Connor did with a smile.

The Deputy rubbed his wrists and was given the 9mm pistol Connor repaired. Beagle led the way, apparently having been here before. They went up a set of stairs and eased open a door. The second floor seemed to be in worse condition then the first with rubble planted everywhere and most doors forced open no doubt by the convicts.

"I heard 'em talking about a gun cabinet up here… Reckon it is the least I can do for you since you're helping out here and all."

"Much obliged."

"Don't thank me yet, we need to kill them first."

The pair moved swiftly, the Deputy seemingly eager to be out as quick as he could. He ran into most rooms and surprised the few raiders up and about and killed them before Connor could even get a shot lined up. By the time Connor caught up after checking the bodies he gestured to a room with a broken down pillar that led up to the third floor. He was pressed against one side of the door.

"One guy up there, heard him singin' something to himself. I'll keep guard down here."

Connor pulled out his 10mm and slowly crawled up the pillar. The convict was standing and stretching out, seemingly tired of guard duty before Connor leapt at him. The Courier slammed his face into the wall and fired three shots into his clothed back before he let the corpse drop. He tugged the key free from around his neck and opened the cabinet. It was mostly ammo contained in there, but to Connor's pleasant surprise there was another magnum. He repaired the one he had and grabbed a box of ammo for it before he found another 10mm pistol and repaired his favorite sidearm as well. He grabbed a sawed off shotgun and a few shells from a lower drawer and placed them in the duffle bag.

"Well? Anything useful?" the Deputy asked when he came back down.

"Guns and Ammo, all of its useful."

"Amen to that, now come on. Spent enough time here as is."

The pair were on the first floor in a hurry. Connor noticed the door that led to the small office near the front desk. With a curious brow and a skilled bobby pin use he managed to get the door open. Beagle helped himself to the fridge while Connor took the first aid kit contents and placed it all in his bag. He used a stimpak and injected it into his neck with a scowl. He could already feel his flesh and aching joints starting to knit back together and limber up.

It was morning when the pair came back into the casino. The people were thankful to have their Deputy back and Beagle even shook his hand with a grateful smile. "Thank ya, but now Primm needs a sheriff."

"You're deputy aren't you? Can't you just take over?"

"There's a chain of command unfortunately… There's an old sheriff who's up in the NCRCF building there. Meyers I think his name is and I figure the NCR here could be useful but I figure martial law isn't all what's cracked up to be."

Connor gathered his things placed under the watchful eye of Johnson Nash, a name he got after he returned.

"I'll think of something for Primm. You have my word on that."

That was the only answer he could give as he made his way outside. There was nothing but a grim line on his lip as he made his way back across the bridge. The same soldier who flagged him down the first time did so again.

"I saw you exit the building with the Deputy, good job on that."

"Thank you, Beagle mentioned something about an ex-con who used to be a sheriff up at the NCRCF?"

"He'll need to be pardoned, and as I mentioned if he can get another unit we can take control over the town. Both decisions will take you to Mojave Outpost, just south-west of here. Follow the highway you can't miss it."

Connor gave a small nod and peered to the south. His fingers playing with the grip of his pistol as he started his trek. The wind was howling in his ears and the sun was beating down on his cut open cheek. He brought his duster further around himself and felt the weight of his duffle bag. Nothing but his thoughts and the scruff of the boots on the highway was paid any mind.


	4. Chapter 4: Highway Patrol

It was a long walk, but Connor could see a building out in the distance. He picked up the pace. There was a storm picking up. The dust flickered about his face and he pulled up a part of his shirt to cover his face. He tripped over a portion of the highway but managed to plant a hand that kept him from falling full to the ground. He had his 10mm pistol in the other hand, keeping it in a solid grip ever since he left Primm. He couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching him.

He heard the crack of a gunshot over the whistling of the wind and he felt his right arm spasm. He went into a roll, using his left shoulder to absorb some of the impact. His back stuck something hard before he sat himself up, leaving his duffle bag beside him. Another pair of shots rung out above him and he peered around the edge of his cover. He could see three vague humanoid shapes moving towards him. He edged around to the other side of his cover and spotted another one, moving quickly. He preferred not to be shot in the back and rose out of cover, firing three shots. The figure hit the ground with a groan.

He made his way to where the other three were approaching and emptied the rest of his clip into the center mass. He saw one of the outlined figured hit the ground hard but the other two ran forward. A part of Connor was relieved that they were raiders and not innocent wastelanders. They both wore their hair in two Mohawks and wore a mixture of patched leather. One of them had a switchblade out and the other took cover behind another metallic husk gripping a sawed-off shotgun. The melee combatant swung the switchblade out at him and Connor weaved to the side. The raider stumbled and Connor kneed him in the back and used him as a human shield as the gunman fired. A bulk of the shot took his comrade in the chest but more ripped along his side. He spun and hit the ground, coughing violently as the wind was knocked out of him.

"Oh looks like I'm eating well tonight…" he heard the other saw with a hissing laughter.

Connor kept still and waited until the raider came around the trunk of the car as he pulled out his magnum, reloading it quickly and with shaking hands. He fired two shots into him as he came around. The first took him in the crotch while the other buried into his chest and flung him back several feet. Connor rolled over and managed to stand, his side and arm on fire as he pushed into the building.

"Who in the hell are you?" a voice snapped.

There were two more, armed with a lead pipe and tire iron. Connor cursed and fired two more shots at the one armed with the pipe. Both shots took her in the face, turning her head into a twisted mass. The lead pipe swung around but Connor leaned down, slammed the grip of his pistol into the side of his head and stumbled back, firing the last two bullets. One connected into his neck and the other rebounded off the wall. Connor found himself on his back again.

He sat up, shuffling through his back and removing his now torn up duster. He inspected the wounds the best he could and with a quick, painful trace of his finger injected stimpack into each area and injected himself with a Med-X to dull the pain. He then managed to get to his feet, leaving his bag on the table and starting to gather up what he could off the corpses, namely the sawed off shotgun and the small box of shells the particular raider had.

He tossed them all outside a fair distance away from the building, letting gravity do its work and leaving the raiders in a ditch. They deserved no better. He was back inside and closed the door, using a desk to block off the entrance. He ignored his burning side and leg as he shoved another Med-X needle into him dulling his senses once more.

The exploration took only a little time. The building had two bathrooms, some cabinets and desks with caps and cigarettes mostly intact in their cartons and what appeared to be old worn badges within a couple of them. It also had a coffee machine and a small collection of intact cups with the letters of LAPD worn into them. It was what, more specifically who, he found in the neighboring room hat he found interesting.

The body was fresh, and by the look of the other raider corpse just across from it he seemed he put up a fight. He wore a set of rodeo jeans in well worn condition with a long duster with what appeared to be pre-war riot armor beneath. He saw the NCR logo on one of the flaps of the duster. The three letters meant only a bit to him. He knew what the NewCaliforniaRepublic was, considering he did see their soldiers about including the ones in Primm, but what was he doing in this place? Captured? It seemed a likely scenario. The man was killed by a single gunshot wound to the back of the head, seeing the nasty caved in skull beneath the helm. He slid it off with a grunt. The face was a bloody mess, barely recognizable under the shards of bone and brain matter. He would pin it on the man with the sawed off shotgun if he ever could guess.

He went about removing the rest of the armor and taking stock of what else the man had. It wasn't what he wanted to truly be doing this far out, but the wasteland wouldn't give him an opportunity like this again. Such a sturdy armor could come in handy. He undressed himself and winced at his pained side and dressed the corpse up in his worn clothing. He kept the duster though and placed it into one of the desk drawers as well as his 9mm pistol with spare ammo. He placed the helm on the desk and put the armor on.

It was a snug fit, mostly due to the outfit's weight, but he strapped his weapons on and with a few experimental strides and waves of his arms was satisfied with it. He then dragged both corpses out into the wilderness again, pilfering the ammo off the raider and using a broken off piece of a car door dug the man a shallow grave and placed him behind the building. He stood there, silent for a moment as he paid what little respect he knew to the man.

Back inside he discovered the NCR man's service rifle. It was a well made weapon and with some cleaning and maintenance was quickly returned to working order. He had three clips shoved into the duster plus the one already in the gun. There were also two beds, albeit folded down from the wall. He strapped the rifle to his back and went through all the cabinets and desks for useful items having just gave a quick glance and grab the first time. When he closed the door to the holding cell he spotted a reloading bench. He saw the first one at Goodsprings outside of Chet's store. If what he heard from Chet was true he could make ammo or convert some bullets into other types should he need to. He wasn't an expert at that, and left it alone for now. He got another carton of cigarettes from the garbage can by it and from the ammo box hidden under it another dozen shells for his sawed off shotgun. All in all a good haul.

That's when he heard the first quiet, alien clicking sounds.

It shocked him at first, having nearly dozed off while sitting down to rest his legs, but he was up in an instant, rifle butt against his shoulder. It seemed to be coming from the bathrooms. He approached quietly and with an uncertain hand opened the men's bathroom up. Half a dozen green shapes with beady red eyes sprung forth, jumping at him. He used his rifle to splatter one against the wall before quickly firing a pair of bullets into each one. The clicking still continued from the women's bathroom. He knew what to expect now as he opened the door and stepped back, more of the mutated insects came forth and Connor emptied his clip on them. He reloaded as his boots crushed the tiny twitching bodies. He placed the empty magazine on the reloading bench and went about cleaning up.

He tossed the small slimy corpses outside on the road and using some of the water that the building had washed them clean. He secured the desk back in front of the door again and made his way back to the beds. The Mojave Outpost can wait for a little while longer. He removed the duster and used it as a makeshift pillow and it wasn't long before Connor fell asleep with a hand gripping his 10mm pistol. One could never be too careful.


End file.
